


Warmest Winter

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America loves christmas, America/England Feels (Hetalia), Angst, Christmas Fluff, England is sad, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Poor England (Hetalia), USUK - Freeform, france is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: England never liked Christmas, it heightened the pain he felt when America became independent. He continues to lament over the years until one particular Christmas, America decides to visit him.





	Warmest Winter

**Author's Note:**

> He was the Scrooge of Christmas, it seems. Not that he minded, he was used to being alone.

"I do hope my roses are okay.." He mutters in worry. Tonight, the chilly sky hosted the show of tiny flakes of snow that rained down the sleepy town he was living in, bringing sheer coldness and covering the land with their trails of carelessness. England could not do anything but hope the snowflakes were kind enough to let his garden live another night. Thoughts of what else the weather brought were now shoved deep into the back of England's mind. He was well-aware that a holiday so ancient was celebrated tonight, well, he was older than the holiday itself. Maybe that was the reason he disregards it so nonchalantly. Because he felt like he lost to a pathetic holiday. And he probably did.

But his concerns for his roses are real, although. Yes, the roses trampled Christmas when it came to a matter of his priority and attention. Christmas isn't a welcome holiday in his home, there were no traces of things that commemorate the holiday. No Christmas stockings, no christmas dinner, not even a christmas tree that had presents underneath. England rationalized why his home lacked the warmness that the yearly event brought. It was a simple answer, and it was practicality. He did not have anyone to spend it with. Sealand would rather receive his presents via airmail and Japan was usually busy in the holidays, France was out of the question, which means there was only person left.

And perhaps he too, was busy during the winter.

But England was almost always alone, and it was okay. It almost always was.

To ease his loneliness, he counts the days left until spring returned in full bloom. Which was, of course, a very long time. But he could manage, there was nothing new after the passage of a millenia. He sighed, in despair or acceptance-he did not know. He thought about wasting the night away with a drink or two, although his heart would be forever quenching for something other than an inanimate object, England still craved for it; a side effect of being lonely, he guesses.

Before he could get depressed any longer, his telephone rang. He took his time in answering it, the paranoia of being too obviously excited lingers his mind as slim fingers wrapped around the black handle. He brings it a little too close to his ear, "Hello?" England says, hoping he wouldn't sound too happy. To the person calling this, he thinks, I apologize in advance for this might be the longest and the most awkward conversation ever to happen for both of us. England already anticipates the embarrassment when the caller replies back. "Yo, England! Merry Christmas, I hope you aren't rotting your sorry ass out because the hero is coming to save you!"

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America absolutely adored Christmas.

The child in him never left after all this time, it would always excite him to see colorful lights adorn the streets of the town, the obligatory feast of scrumptious items filled his seemingly void of a stomach and the happiness his people emit during the preppy holiday. It makes the hero in him shine with pride for he fought to see this kind of peace. He smiles widely to each family, couple or person that passes by him and he receives equally bright grins in return. Why wouldn't they? Christmas has that magic spell to make anyone feel giddy.

Did England feel giddy during this time around? He ponders, looking at the shining and endless starry ceiling. England did taught him the meaning of Christmas in the first place, even if the other nation had trouble remembering it. However in the course of centuries, America noticed that his past guardian succumbed to the feeling of indifference when the holidays came around. Whenever America would mention something-anything about Christmas, England's eyes would lose some of its spark. His eyes were akin to the wide and mysterious forest and when sadness or any kind of negativity overtook him, the forest inside dulled. Almost like it was rotting and dying. America hated that, very much. Something gnawed intensely inside his stomach seeing England like that.

And that is not the reason exactly why he bought tickets to London. He tries to convince himself that it was just his 'instincts' as a hero, that he shouldn't leave no person pathetic even if it was England. Maybe because it was England. He summons up the courage to step inside into a nearby phone booth, he was freezing-from the cold or the nervousness he didn't know. America's fingers seem to have a mind of their own as he was surprised that he already dialled England's telephone address.

"Hello?" He thinks he hears the subtle, happy rise of England's voice.

He feels happy himself. America couldn't stop the grin that plagues his face as emotions danced around his chest. "Yo, England! Merry Christmas, I hope you aren't rotting your sorry ass out because the hero is coming to save you!"

"Wha-what? America? Why are you-" Englands exclaims, his crisp voice somehow hosted both surprise and disbelief. America grins even further, not that the older nation would see that. He savours that thought that England is unaware of the pure joy that practically manifested throughout his body. "I'm coming to your place, like right now, dude! I figured you'd be lonely, so don't throw away your disgusting scones just yet."

"Excuse you," England spats, "But I never made any scones today. And they are not disgusting."

America just laughs at the obvious lie and dashes off to his destination.

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It took a lot of petty squabbles and shouts for both of them to settle down and sit down together on the couch, with a mug of cocoa. With strong reluctance from England, of course. The two of them sat silently, letting the fire crackle within the room. America finishes his cocoa in a flash, and it wasn't long before he pathetically steals England's share as well. Not that he minds, it was expected of him. "You didn't have to come." He blurts, leaning his head against America's shoulder. It was a physical contradiction to this statement. England only hides his face further into that shoulder he used to nurse so long ago. America reprociates the feeling as he sneaks an arm around the slim waist of the older nation. "I already did. So there's nothing I can do about it."

"Mmh" hums England. The echo of unspoken words replaces the radiant warmth the fireplace spread across the room. England lets his guard down for a moment, for America's presence feels like his own. He was, in a way, his. He ignores the fact that this moment filled with serendipity happened within the duration of Christmas. He also ignores the lovingly tone America choose to use when saying 'Merry Christmas'. He doesn't respond to that. His lover comments the irony between him and his people. "The people of England adore Christmas, why does the literal personification-you, hate it?" England flickers his forest-green eyes to the nation beside him, as if making a silent protest of contrast. The contrast being the cold and pale curse Christmas brings and his own eyes, spring-like, vibrant and painstakingly different. He is sure America doesn't get it at all, though.

"I guess I'm my own person when the season comes." he responds, fingers curl around the outstretched fabric. Begging for him to just drop it. Thankfully, America finally gets the message. "Okay, you don't like it, that's fine. I'm only asking why."

"I never really spend it with anyone. That's all." the sudden burst gets himself off guard. But he persisted to voice out the pain that ached for millenia. It's foolish, he thinks, but I guess it's needed. He could feel those sky-blue eyes piercing his very being, they're full of patience and the desire to understand him. England bears the embarrassment that he's willingly blurting out to the man that desperately wanted to get away from him so long ago. The man whom he'd known since his birth, the man he raised as his supposed little brother, the man who rebelled against him, the man who left him, the man he loved. The words choked him so violently-

"It left me in pieces. Thinking that every year you'd be-" he hiccups. Tears confidently falling down his cheeks, he is sure he's helpless to stop them. America wipes them gently with his hands, his grip tightens also. Almost like he's trying to convey regret. He understands.

"You'd be fine. Without me. Happy even. I always thought you loved Christmas because I wasn't there with you. I knew that you would relish in the joy of the seasons and I hated it, so, so much. I was selfish and I-I don't know why-but I knew all the same." Blurting nonsense came easy as drinking tea, he just hopes this nonsense would be sensible for him. It hurts, it's painful, it's restricting, it's liberating, it's raw. "I wanted to be selfish. I really do, until now, actually." he doesn't care that if he were to put what he said on paper, it would be a walking catastrophe. America is someone he can't understand anyway. He's the hurricane that's reckless and always moving from all directions. But strangely enough, he's his hurricane that's stable enough to stay.

"I'm here though." His declaration is a catalyst to set off the emotions England was avoiding all his life. "I'm here with you right now, England." The nation that seemed too strong cries too. Along with him. "I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry."

England manages to chuckle, "I know." It comes off as a strained whisper. He hears the windows make a small bang as the winter storm entered with precise timing to clearly display what they were both feeling. The storm came so suddenly, but at the same time, it was long overdue.


End file.
